“Well,” he said with a smile to the Clown who headed the crowd; “well, and what is the ladies’ opinion about my beauty?”
“The ladies have decided,” said the Clown, nodding his head and speaking very rapidly, “the ladies have all decided—mind you, all decided—that you are a hansom man. And so say I.”
The Hansom-driver climbed down from his seat.
“Shake hands,” he said. “One doesn’t find a fellow of sense like you every day.”
The Clown shook hands, then turned a somersault and grinned from ear to ear.
“Handsome,” he said slowly, “but without the d and the e. Mark that, my child. No beauty, but a hansom man. Ho-la! What’s the time of day? Time to go away?”
For the Hansom-driver had mounted to his seat, and, whipping up his horse, was driving off as fast as he could.
